


Hopeful Desperation

by Holde_Maid



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: End of Days, Future Fic, The Gathering, caveat lector
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7066429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holde_Maid/pseuds/Holde_Maid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A twin piece set in a post-apocalyptic world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hopeful Desperation

**Author's Note:**

> Rated "PG-13".  
> \---------------  
> Author's Notes:  
> This ficlet was written in answer to a challenge comprising an image - you'll probably find the pic (Duncan in a graveyard) at HLWW, among pictures of "The Source" - and based on other people's response to this and an analogous challenge.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> Neither said picture nor the other stories not the characters or universes of "Highlander: The Series" belong to me. I've no intention of infringing on the owner's rights and of course I am not making any money off this.

**SHE**  
  
She could not see what it was, but he was holding something. A sword, perhaps, hidden behind his arm and his right leg. What else could it be?  
  
And yet, why bring a drawn sword to their meeting place on the cemetery? They were still on friendly terms, were they not? The time of the Gathering had not yet come, and even now there was still time for romance. There might not be flowers and chocolates, but they still had something to give to each other. The warmth of their bodies at night.  
  
Maybe not tonight, though. There was something in his eyes... As if he might cry at any moment. And it wasn’t mere sadness.  
  
 _No!_ she thought. _Not Duncan! Not Duncan, don’t let him lose faith. Not him._  
  
Now she knew why he had called her. He needed her to give him a glimmer of hope. The pretence of happiness that let her eyes shine and allowed her to make everybody but herself believe that she was carefree. At least she was needed. She would live.  
  
She quickened her step and held out her arms.  
  
As she embraced him, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. Before she felt so much as fear, before the metal glint could even register, pain seared through her spine. For a moment it intensified throbbingly, then a merciful black veil fell across the world.  
  
Sometimes there was an instant of awareness before you actually revived. The instant your soul slipped back into its body. In that one instant she already knew that she was no longer in the cemetery. The feeling of comparative security was gone.  
  
Instead, there was only the serenity of knowing. Someone was here. An Immortal. One with a strong, penetrating presence.  
  
And then the coughing and the fear set in, the realisation that she was helpless and at the mercy of a man she had not seen in months. What had all those weeks made of him that he would kill her? Was he still ... sane?  
  
 _No!_ she thought. _Not Duncan!_ Not strong, lovely Duncan, the one she had always trusted to stay sane and safe and reliable. — The sentiment seemed strangely familiar, but her head was still reeling and unable to locate the half-memory.  
  
"Welcome," an unexpected voice greeted her. If she wasn’t much mistaken, that was Methos’ voice. Maybe this explained her feeling his presence so intensely.  
  
Another wave of fear. Had _he_...?  
  
She tried to draw herself up, but her body was not yet able to comply. Her hands and legs were without feeling and tended to give under her weight. Also, she could not see. What was wrong with her eyes?  
  
"Here, let me." Duncan’s voice now, gentle as she had remembered it. So, not one presence, but two. He removed the blindfold that she was just growing aware of and helped her get up. "Sorry for the secrecy. We couldn’t risk anything."  
  
Once her eyes had gotten used to the dim light, she took in their surroundings. So this was their lair. Bare walls, pallets, rats. Not much better that her own place. Her eyes wandered past the two Immortals watching her. A chair. Books on a table. Two lay open where someone had read in them. More wooden chairs, slightly askew where the readers had gotten up. Obviously they were researching. Looking for something. Maybe that was why they had taken her here.  
  
And also why they did not want her to realise where exactly she was, to make sure that she could not return. Duncan had killed her to protect the books, the table and the chairs. These items nowadays meant only one thing: fuel. Books sold well on the black market, as did any bits of wood and coal one could lay hands on — and was ready to part with. Anything that would burn and give a little warmth. Clearly Duncan feared she would steal one of these valuables.  
  
A sudden noise had her spin around.  
  
They were not alone. A feverish bundle lay huddled on a pallet in the background. She went a few steps closer and saw it was Joe Dawson. Poor Joe. This was not a good world for an aging man relying on prosthetics. They hadn’t yet gotten rid of the dust. Bad idea. It could get into Joe’s lungs and cause goodness knew what trouble there. Was that what they wanted her for? To take care of Joe while they went on researching? He could certainly use a herb tea, but the truth was that he was just an old man. Mortal. Tired. Powerless.  
  
Maybe he was better off than they were. If he lost faith in life, it didn’t matter so much. At least not so long.  
  
On the other hand, if there was still hope, they had more time to go and find a glimpse of it. Joe might close his eyes forever first. The thought hurt more than the blade Duncan had stuck into her back before taking her here.  
  
  
  
 **HE**  
  
He still heard the screams that had woken him a few weeks ago...  
  
Nobody knew exactly how it had happened. The general mortal public, scarce as it now was, assumed that an atom bomb must have gone off. The Immortals, however, knew better. It had been a fight on Holy Ground, that much had been established. Immortals and Watchers had joined ranks in some places, exchanging information for food, fuel or money. Somehow word had spread that Ursa had taken Everett Bellion’s head in a small church beside a German Autobahn.  
  
But how the intellectually ill-equipped Ursa had gotten there in the first place remained a much-discussed mystery. Duncan had assumed that now must be the time of the Gathering, and that this had worsened the effect of the Quickening on Holy Ground. Methos, however, was clearly positive that MacLeod was wrong.  
  
On the other hand, he was not clear on why else the effect had been so enormous it cast most of the civilised world back into the Middle Ages. Either way, they agreed something must have amplified it. But what? Why? How?  
  
With some difficulty, Methos had convinced him that they had to find answers to these questions more urgently than help the mortals bury their dead. It had been a tough choice to make, but finally Duncan had agreed to leave the dead behind. At least the freezing cold put a lid on the spreading of bacteria to some extent.  
  
Staring into space on a cemetery, pondering the dead, dying and injured. Fitting, wasn’t it?  
  
But he had not come here to contemplate them, and he had forgotten how to pray. Now more than ever he wished he had not lost his faith somewhere along the line. As he cast a wary eye on the shadows between the graves, Duncan wondered what was keeping Amanda.  
  
Methos had offered to free him of this task, but he hadn’t meant it. If Amanda still trusted anyone, it would only be MacLeod, anyway. Anyone else would have had to waste a precious bullet on killing her. They all knew that. The problem was that she knew herself to be not that brilliant a fighter. Surely she would certainly keep a safe distance from Methos. This new age of gloom and destruction had given rise to distrust even amongst mortals. Everyone was hungry, cold, needy, jealously guarding what little they had.  
  
Duncan had brought a stiletto, hoping it would give her a less painful death than the katana. Of course dying was never easy, but at least he could avoid drawing out the pain. Hopefully, Amanda would recognise that.  
  
At last she arrived, and her beautiful features gave him a shock. She looked drawn and tired, even though she gave him her usual charming smile. As she saw him, she stopped short. Did she know?  
  
Her hesitation would stay with him and would revisit him tonight, he knew. Little things like this did that a lot recently. They came to worry him and keep him from sleeping. The tired faces. Toes and fingers turned black when they were frozen. The greedy eyes that watched him when he rescued a book or two needed for their research. The snarls and the fighting when he had to actually take one off some mortal. These images kept him wondering whether they were doing the right thing.  
  
The moment passed and she approached him, arms outstretched. She embraced him warmly. Now.  
  
As he had hoped, she died quickly. He installed the blindfold and draped her across his back. Carrying her this way would be less tiring that throwing her across his shoulder or carrying her in his arms. He couldn’t afford to stop too often. Speed was required to make absolutely sure she would not revive before they had entered the hiding place.  
  
Methos welcomed him with a cool nod, but Joe still lay on the pallet. He was in worse shape than the day before. The short nights were taking their toll on him. Let him rest.  
  
Duncan had arrived with plenty of time to spare, it seemed; they waited hours before Amanda’s first gasp. When she came to, he took off the blindfold and helped her up. The intense cold had made her clumsy. She stared at the books greedily for a moment, then continued to inspect the room. Maybe Methos had been wrong. They could not trust her to help them steal books for their research. Maybe it had all been in vain.  
  
Joe sneezed, and Amanda’s head whipped around. When Duncan saw Amanda’s expression as she caught sight of Joe, the first glimmer of hope warmed his heart. Her cheerfulness in the graveyard had not taken away his gloom in the least, but her worried look did. Here was someone who still cared. Yes, there was still hope.  
  
He went over and hugged her.  
  


* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://hlfiction.net/viewstory.php?sid=499>


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